(My boss calls me into a meeting room to tell me that they have a ‘problem’ with the medications I need to take in order to be able to work with my disabilities. He has particular issues with narcotic painkillers.)

Boss: “Right, I’ll keep this short. We’re going to need to see proof that your prescriptions are genuine and that you are not buying these off the streets.”

Me: “Ok, easy enough. I keep a copy of the repeat prescription with my doctor’s contact details with me in case of queries by police or anyone since they are controlled substances. I’ll happily show you that.”

Boss: “Um, no. You might have made that up.”

Me: “It’s got my doctor’s details right on it; you can give them a call, or I can call them and get them to do a letter or something?”

Boss: “How do I know they are an actual doctor?”

Me: “You can look up the surgery and call them direct from the number on their website to check they are there? They’ve been there for more years than I have. I can get a letter from them if you like with their registered doctor number?”

Boss: “Look, we’re going for a new client that is a religious school right? How do you think we’ll get that contract if they find out we’ve got a druggie on staff?”

Me:*starting to tear up* “I’m disabled and need medications to survive! I’m not a drug addict!”

Boss: “Well, if that was true then you wouldn’t be getting upset would you?”

Me: “What the f*** is your problem with me? I don’t see you hauling anyone else into meeting rooms for taking their inhalers or insulin injections or anything?”

(My doctor was pretty incensed to hear that his decisions are being questioned by my manager and has written a fairly scathing letter to our HR department about how my medical history is not the business of my company and he doesn’t appreciate having his profession likened to a drug dealer nor his disabled patients being called ‘druggies’. We’re waiting to see what happens.)

(I work in IT. We have to dispatch techs to sites when needed, and I will often send out six to seven techs in a day across the US. I have a coworker approach me about one I had worked with earlier in the day.)

Coworker: “Hey, [My Name], do you remember that dispatch you sent earlier, for that place, about that problem?”

(For a couple of summers, I worked for an older woman who ran her own landscaping business, mostly planting flowers and organizing things that the men on the crew could not be counted on to put away properly. As a fairly tech-savvy college student I offered minor tech support even after I found a more year-round job. On this occasion, I answer a slightly hysterical phone call regarding important emails.)

Boss: “[My Name], oh, you’ve got to help me. I had this really important email from [Client] but now I can’t find it!”

Me: “Are you sure you’re checking the right email? Or the right inbox?”

Boss: “It’s my work Gmail and it’s so important. It has all the details of what I need to do and I flagged it but now I can’t find it!”

Me: “I could come over, if you need—”

Boss: “No, no. I must be getting senile. I mean it was RIGHT HERE and I flagged it so I could find it again but now—”

Me: “Wait, you FLAGGED it? Check your spam folder.”

Boss:*half an octave higher* “My SPAM FOLDER! Why would it be there?!”

Me: “Flagging it isn’t a good thing. You told your email that you didn’t want to see that message, and probably every message from [Client]. It’s a warning. Like “red flags,” you know?”

Boss:*skeptical* “No, I don’t know. Where did it go?”

Me: “Please, check your spam folder.”

(She checked it and, lo and behold, there was all the important messages from Client that she’d been going crazy looking for, among other business emails. She definitely knows what she’s talking about when it comes to planting and designing gardens, but put her in front of a computer…)